


The Table

by Winnetou



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Humor, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-06 22:53:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15205253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winnetou/pseuds/Winnetou
Summary: At 221B Baker Street the table fulfilled many different functions and the most obvious one being usually the last one.





	The Table

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Stół](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12427809) by [Winnetou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winnetou/pseuds/Winnetou). 



> This is a translate of my very first fic on ao3. Enjoy!

At 221B Baker Street the table fulfilled many different functions and the most obvious one being usually the last one. Today it was an operating table - cleaned up quickly, disinfected and covered up with an old sheet.

“Can’t you listen to what I say to you from time to time?” John asked irritably. He was just making stitches on Sherlock's thigh. “I warned you that that guy has a knife.”  
“There was no time” detective murmured.  
“There was no time?” Watson looked at his boy with surprise. “I thought you were smart enough to run and listen at the same time.”

Sherlock did not honour him with the answer, mainly because John's anger was justified. The crazy chase ended with a short fight, during which Holmes earned a harmless wound, and the pursued acquainted himself with captain John H. Watson's straight left.

“Do you know that if the knife went a few centimetres deeper, would it cut the artery?” John looked critically at his work, then nodded approvingly.  
“I know, but luckily it did not happen, and I have the best private physician“ Sherlock said, leaning in to kiss the doctor who gave back the kiss, but moved away when he felt impatient hands on his ass.

“I am not doing my best just to let you ruin these stitches now. No effort or running for a week. And sex is also part of the effort.”  
“A week?!” Sherlock stared at him in disbelief. “John! You can't!”  
“I am your private doctor, as you deigned to notice, so yes, I can. Somehow you can stand it.”

He smiled when he saw the detective's unhappy face and kissed him for consolation. Sherlock gingerly stepped off the table and leaned in to put on his pants; only now he looked carefully at the stitches.

“John, are you just...”  
“... signed you? Yes.” John smiled with satisfaction.

A row of evenly stitches ran through Sherlock's thigh, but in the middle of the row there was asymmetry – some of them lined up with JHW's initials.

“Now everyone will know that you are mine. At least everyone by who you want to take off your pants.”

***

The week was inexorably prolonged for both men. Sherlock on forced celibacy was unbearable, but even though John's hands were itching, he firmly adhered to his own recommendations. After all, one of them had to take care of Sherlock's health, and it certainly was not the one that meant to be interested. When John finally found that the stitches could be removed, he again prepared the table in the kitchen, planted Holmes on it, and got to work.

Throughout the course of the operation, the detective was extremely calm and taciturn, but when Watson turned to wash his hands in the sink, he caught him up, turned him over and pinned him to the table. John had no chance of any defence when Sherlock gagged at his mouth. Besides, he did not even intend to try.

Fifteen minutes later John held onto the table, trying not to fall, and tried to remember how to breathe. His back ached and he probably broke his tailbone when Sherlock seated him on the table suddenly.

Opposite him, the detective leaned against the kitchen cupboard and was pleased to admire his own "work".

“Did you like it, doctor?”  
“Like hell” John gasped, adjusting his pants. “If you try to do it every time, I think I will arrange such fasts more often.”  
“Do not even try” Holmes took one long step and grabbed his hands. “And it doesn’t make any sense for you to correct your clothes if I'm going to strip you anyway.”  
“Okay, but just let this one be a soft piece of furniture this time.”


End file.
